Entering the Chronoscape

The request, orders, had been simple. He was to visit another of the St. James family, why had not been expressly supplied but there was one very clear order. Don't annoy the woman, he wasn't certain by the tone if he would succeed there but he would do his best. Astarote was dressed neatly, not a hair out of place where he had pulled it back and the entire suit seemed tailored for him. Slight embroidery adorned the edging, meticulously detailed wyverns and wyrms visible only when the light hut just so. The jet on black of a panther's pelt. He didn't know what to expect when he was settled into the carriage, but apparently it was a legitimate castle they were aiming for. It made him arch a brow, peering up at the gilded towers, but he frowned as an instinctive search found neglect. Most spaces untouched, and long untouched, despite the grandure. It was an odd sense, hollow and filtering at the back if his mind, not unlike dust motes dancing in a shaft of light. He would have liked to explore the place, but restrained the tug for the present. The library peaked his interest however, as did several musical halls, but he returned to himself and made his way across the moat. Frowning for the state of the front landing, people didn't visit the place often, and the fact the groom had refused to cross the moat was concerning. His senses, and what little reserves he had mustered from the crash, pinpointed nothing untoward. Only the first floor felt used, the rest of the vast estate hollow and cool to his scanning, and only two scents flickered within as he raised a hand to knock. Age and relative youth, a great deal of age, for a mortal, really. Intriguing, but he only filed it away and straightened up respectfully for the shuffling within. Smiling for the old woman, but neatly shifted the mask once more, pulling on those years in the desert. A servant, a soldier, "I was informed I should be expected, Madame?" he breathed, bowing deep and kissing her hand when it was offered. Full and ancient nobility for the scowling matron and her dragon. "Astarote Lochesh, at your service?" The lack of reply as she retreated didn't bother him, the stryzga simply closed the door and moved behind, just a fraction to what appeared her offhand. Carefully out of the way, but within range as his hands curled behind his back. Isa was more forthcoming, the small dragoness smiling and chatting softly for them both. It was through her he learned much of Doris, and his reason for being there. He could respect the woman keeping up on her family's behalf, at least. Irregardless her temperament overall, he had frankly seen worse, and as the woman took a winding route - clearly showing the space off- he admired their surroundings. He was no grand craftsman, but age came with knowledge as a rule, and he was able to comment on the intricate gilded patterns in the woodwork, the carvings and details of the space. A mason himself he was quick to note the ingenuity of construction where he noticed it, and a tiny smile tugged for the woman's clear little puff -up for the same. He disliked the souring of age, but he could respect the same to a degree; sympathize with it. The body growing old, weary, and the mind threatening to follow. The change around you becoming too great and not enough all at once, jading one's views. Draining so much away as the frame buckled, for the leeching or alongside he often wondered? Too often he saw the same in his millinea of life, the spark fading but fighting back. Sometimes that fight was too violent, it burned those who got close, until no one tried any longer. Isolation was a curse, and when self inflicted it was its worst variant of itself. More so when the sufferer failed to realize that same factor. He would be polite then, no matter what the disposition of his host, even more so than he would simply being the woman was his host and he a guest in her home. He couldn't help but perk for the artifacts proudly shown in the space, instantly curious as he felt the weight if them. The emotions they carried palpable, but he moved closer silently. Poured the tea and neatly served Doris before himself. Ducking respectfully before he claimed another chair under Ira's bidding. The long necked dragon making her way up and into a cozy nest atop the ottoman nearby. It was quiet for a spell then, but for the whisper of a voice not unlike his own murmuring the words to some tale. He followed the baritone easily despite the volume, curious as it tracked its protagonist through a vast cavern and its perils. It wasn't a tale he recognized though, which only intrigued the old soldier farther. Eventually the woman herself spoke, and he leaned forward to give her his full attention. Nodding and obliging her with his own account of the battle days past now. Alistair had recovered, far less shaken than he had expected, which was all to the good. He was furious in a way that reminded them far too much of his mate still, however, that single minded drive he recognized as wholly Rasa'hyne in a way nothing else was. He didn't envy the fool who had attacked the boy, if he was honest. It would be a grand show however. He chose not to disrespect the woman for the same light, and spared no details beyond those he deemed droll. Trusting she wouldn't balk from the bloodshed, and almost chuckled as she herself leaned in. Just a fraction. As if he were one of the narrators on her machine, but one with a fresh tale. He didn't embellish however, had no need to. He simply knew what he was doing, and the attack had lasted only moments before they had ended it alongside Lucius. He didn't missed the glint in her eye as he detailed the ultimatum to his messenger however. Though she only sniffed and settled back, "Rather messy, couldn't you have been a bit neater, boy?" he inclined his head only, not bothering to contradict the title. "Indeed, madame. It has chanced to be my experience, however, that cleanliness impresses only those accustomed to violence. While mess and its disregard strike the necessary chords to send a message in those... less acclimatized?" he returned, clearly tilting it to a question for the woman to indulge if she chose. "I did not care to give the child benefit of the former, and so the latter was my recourse, I fear. My apologies, my Lady?" He wasnt above admitting the same, nor of asking her opinions on the topic. Which seemed to open the woman up a fraction, enough he could inquire of the artifacts around them. Listening with rapt attention for the tales of her youthful escapades. Apparently Doris had been an adventurer in her youth, travelling far and each artifact here she had acquired personally. It explained the emotional miasma they carried, and that same sense helped direct his questions and interjections. Pulling the woman out of her shell as much as he was able, letting her talk on her passions without interruption. Her glory days had been more intriguing than most; and it served the double benefit of making him more familiar with this world and its cultures as she described places far abroad, and even a connected world tangled with this one. What he was not expecting was the eventual nod before her dismissal of them. Ira sitting up, and disappearing. Several moments later she returned, an orb of light floated before her, whiskers touching and steering an... egg... at its heart. The tug was immediate, even before he could properly look at it, akin to the pull of a drakkari and so familiar. He didn't ask if it was theirs, there was no need. Hands simply extended as he took the weight. Cradled the shell as he studied it. All but black, yet every indent of the shell was a vibrant slate blue, not unlike a giant emu egg. It took him a breath to register the dismissal, but he stood and bowed again. There was some gratitude in there, but if he was honest his senses were rather skewed, focus shrunk in the moment to the faint pulse he sensed within the egg. The comforting anchor of something so familiar and so permanent on a strange world until he could return home. It was a balm he hadn't realized he needed, but he was grateful. The vampire only refocused when the groom spoke, restraining the growl as it had been his error, distraction so great he didn't realize he was already back at the carriage. Yes, he agreed belatedly, it seemed he had earned some approval from the woman. If the egg was anything to go by, at least. He wasn't certain what it meant, to have been deemed adequate, at least, by the elder St. James but time would tell, he supposed. For now he put it from his mind and remounted the carriage. Focusing on the egg he now cared for in the relative seclusion of the interior.